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HOW WE MANAGED 



Our Private Theatricals ; 



OB, 



A GUIDE TO THE AMATEUR STAGE. 



CONTAINING 



J^LAIN piRECTIONS 



For the Construction, Arrangement and Lighting of the Stage, Painting the 
Scenery, getting tip the Costumes, making the Properties and Acces- 
sories; Instructions for making CALCIUM LIGHTS, etc., etc. 



With numerous Illustrations £ ^Diagrams. 



TO WHICH IS ADDED 



I MIL© pi /\NNE, 



.A. Roaring UTarce^ for Home Performance. 

cf 

NEW YORK : 

jaC^LFFY HOURS COMPANY, 

NO. 22 ANN STREET. 






Entered according to act of Congress in the year 1872, by 

HAPPY HOURS COMPANY, 
an tne office of tlie Librarian of Congress at Wasiiington. 



Wynkoop & Hallenbeck, Printers, 
113 Fulton street, New York. 



INTRODUCTION. 



Never had I longed so for my holidays. I had counted the weary 
weeks at Doctor Thwakem's, and had often wished for home ; but 
now I longed with heart and soul for the change. The dark, damp 
misty streets were hateful to me. The smoke laden sky seemed to 
oppress my life. I longed for the open country and to roam beneath 
the trees, leafless though they were, and to gaze at the sky through 
the network of their interleaved branches. I had not decided as to 
where I should spend my holidays ; but I knew and k felt that they 
would be spent in the country. 

It wanted but a few days to Christmas — perhaps a fortnight — when 
I received a cordial note from my aunt, Mrs. Fitz Hearty, who resides 
at the pretty watering-place of Chilton. This note decided me. It 
ran as follows: 

"My Dear Ronald. — We have been anxiously waiting to hear 
from you, as to when we should have the pleasure of seeing you. 
We want you particularly this Christmas, and we know that no one 
has a better right to you than we have. We are selfish enough to 
require your aid in an amusing project which has been started here. 
Tour cousins Alice and Kate require your assistance in getting up 
some amateur theatricals — for a charitable object, of course. You 
can have your old blue room. Your uncle says the rabbits are in 
condition, and want thinning, and I know the wild-fowl are plenti- 
ful on Lupton Marsh. So we shall expect you ; and ' old Jack ' shall 
meet you at the station. We all send our best love, and I remain 
" Your affectionate aunt, 

1 ' Lizzie Fitz-Hearty. 

"Beechlawn, Chilton, December 7th, 1871.' ' 



4 HOW WE MANAGED OUR PRIVATE THEATRICALS. 

This pleasant little note — for my aunt always writes pleasant little 
notes, and she has a happy knack of packing small hampers of coun- 
try luxuries when one is leaving — decided me. Certainly there was 
no place to equal Chilton for the holidays. The rabbit hunting, wild- 
fowl shooting, and the private theatricals, to add a zest to the long 
winter evenings. So I wrote and accepted the invitation. 

The welcome day came at last. A hurried farewell, and a couple 
of hours in an express train. A couple of miles on the back of "old 
Jack," the pony, landed me at Beechlawn, where I found a hearty 
welcome, and was speedily introduced to a party of some dozen exci- 
ted and enthusiastic individuals. 

" Oh here's the welcome Ronald," said one. "We want you to 
paint the scenery and make the properties ' ' 

"And to act ' the juvenile walking gentleman,' " said Mrs. Fitz- 
Hearty. 

"Ronald is so clever," interposed my cousin Kate. 

"And so good-natured," said cousin Alice. 

I bowed, and begged to ask what had been discussed and what de- 
cision had been arrived at. 

1 ' Oh, didn' t you hear that we were going to have some private 
amateur theatricals for the benefit of the coal-dust fund ? And we 

are going to play well, I do not know what we are going to play ; 

but we want you to paint the scenery, fit up the stage, arrange the 
dresses for the gentlemen to play— — ' ' 

" Stop one moment, my dear Kate." I managed to say. "You 
are too voluble, and forget that I know nothing of all this." 

" How stupid," said Mice, immediately. "We are telling you as 
fast as we can." 

" Rather too fast," I thought ; but it did not signify much. I was 
soon enlightened as to the intention of the meeting, and of the part 
I was expected to take. 

Nature perhaps intended me for an artist. My friends all appreci- 
ated my talent for painting, decorating and gilding ; but, somehow 
the fates had some other destiny in store for me. Hence I was fixed 
on by some kind of natural selection, which perhaps Darwin will ex- 
plain, to paint the scenery, when my destiny pointed to an active life 
in a very different direction. Nevertheless, I gladly entered into 
the spirit of the thing. 



HOW WE MANAGED OUR PRIVATE THEATRICALS. 5 

" Had they fixed on a piece V' I asked. 

*' Oh, not exactly," said Alice. " I was thinking of the ' Bride of 
Lammermoor.' " 

"I had suggested 'Othello,' * Hamlet,' and the 'Bengal Tiger," 
said a tall, stately young man, whom I resolved to hate from that 
time forward. 

"Does no one want to play the inevitable 'Lady of Lyons?" I 
inquired ; for the * ' Lady of Lyons ' ' is the stock piece of incipient 
Thespians. 

" The "Lady of Lyons " was not not thought of. There was not 
an ambitious Claude nor a proud Pauline amongst the party ; and 
what was still worse, but little experience of stage business, which is 
so necessary in all theatrical enterprises, and particularly in amateur 
efforts. One had played a supernumerary character in a farce, and 
another was great in a charade. 

I suggested that our first effort should be confined to one-act vau- 
devilles and farces, at least for a beginning. So we agreed to play 
"Mr. and Mrs. White," "Box and Cox," and a charade, which a 
friend had written to suit the particular talents of the corps drarnatique. 

The first question was the scenery. It is generally the stone on 
which amateaur Thespian clubs stumble. Scenery, under the most 
favorable circumstances, is a very expensive item. If it is hired, it 
becomes expensive ; If you purchase your own cloth, and engage the 
nearest scenic aitist to paint it, you are generally surprised at the 
amount if not at the length of the bill. But if one of the company 
can paint, and does not fear a little splashing, the difficulty soon van- 
ishes. The mere technicalities of scene-painting are soon acquired. 
With regard to the "effect," a few hints and a little practice soon 
overcome this obstacle. For the guidance of those who may wish to 
try their hands on this fascinating art, I will give in the following 
pages, an outline of the modus operandi* 



How We Managed Our 

PBIYATE THEATRICALS. 



CONSTRUCTION OF A STAGE, PROSCENIUM 
AND AUDITORIUM. 

The selection of the place of performance must, of course, 
depend on local circumstances. For a small theatre, two 
parlors or drawing-rooms, connected by sliding doors, 
make a capital theatre. The hack room "being in most cases 
smaller than the front one, it can be converted into a stage, 
with space behind for the changing of the scenes and other 
stage business ; while the doors, when thrown back, leave an 
opening which forms a very convenient proscenium. 

When the stage and auditorium are in one large room, 
such as a schoolroom or loft, a division can be formed by 
hanging drapery from the ceiling, which would shut off the 
portion allotted to the actors from that occupied by the spec- 
tators, leaving only an opening for the proscenium and stage. 

This may be done by means of a few yards of glazed cal- 
ico, of a dark color, or carpets may be used temporarily for 
the purpose. 



5 HOW WE MANAGED OUR PRIVATE THEATRICALS. 

In the use of the two connecting rooms the advantages 
are obvious, as not only is the use of drapery dispensed with, 
but, the room apportioned to the actors having a door of its 
own, the performers have free ingress and egress, without 
the cognizance of the audience. 

Where there is only one room, a slight partition should 
be constructed from the stage to the door ; a curtain on a 
rod, or a temporary stage, would do, behind which the per- 
formers could pass to and fro, as stage effect is very much 
marred by the mixing of the actors, in costume, with the au- 
dience. 




Fig. 1. 

"We will suppose that the room at the disposal of the 
artistes is an ordinary modern double drawing-room, divid- 
ed by an arch or sliding door, and that the backroom has 
been devoted to the use of the stage, and the other apart- 
ment for the audience ; but this choice much depends upon 
the general arrangement of the house, taking care that the 
performers have ready access to dressing and retiring rooms. 

As to the construction of the stage itself, the floor must 



HOW WE MANAGED OUR PRIVATE THEATRICALS. 



9 



form its ground-work, for the limited height of ordinary 
rooms will not admit of a raised platform, to say nothing of 
the inconvenience and trouble attending such an undertak- 
ing. It matters little whether or not the carpet be taken up. 
"We should suggest that if it remain a sheet of green baize 
be stretched over it, both for the sake of protection and bet- 
ter effect. These preliminaries being settled, we must now 
proceed to the construction of the frame-work upon which to 
hang the scenery. It must be borne to mind that these 
hangings must take three forms — {1) a sheet or flat, for the 
back scene of all, a space being left behind for convenience 
sake ; (2) vertical strips at the sides to conceal the walls of 
the room, technically called " wings ; 7 ' and (3) horizontal 
strips hung from the top, to hide ceiling and frame-work, 
the technical name for which is "borders." A glance at 




Fig. 2. 
Fig. 1 will help the reader to understand this. The single 
dotted lines represent the laths from which the borders and 
wings are to be hung ; the ends being supported by the 
frame-work. The space between them should not exceed 
three feet, but this will depend upon the size of the room. 



10 



HOW WE MANAGED OUR PRIVATE THEATRICALS. 



The frame-work should exactly fit the room, and should con- 
sist of four uprights, one at each corner, connected by light 
beams at the top. If the room be accurately measured in 
the first instance, the whole of this simple frame-work can 
be made out of the house, and put together afterwards in 
half an hour. The joints should all be neatly and strongly 
made ; iron angle-pieces may be used with advantage at all 
of the corners, for besides giving strength and solidity to the 
structure ? they can be applied by any one who knows the 
use of a gimlet and screw-driver. The ends of the laths 
holding the borders, may either be slipped into mortises, 
previously cut in the beams for that purpose, or be merely 
screwed on from beneath, after the erection of the frame- 
work . By this plan they can be easily shifted. 




Fig. 3. 



The hangings, or "borders," may be made of any^tuff 
that is not glazed. In most houses spare curtains can be 
mustered ; but where this is not the case, green baize will 
be at once the cheapest and most effective that can be used. 
Fig. 3 is a section taken through the stage, from front to 



HOW WE MANAGED OUR PRIVATE THEATRICALS. 



11 



back, showing the construction of the frame-work, and the 
laths from which the borders are to depend. Fig. 4 is also 
a section through the stage ; but from the spectators' point 
of view, showing the wings and borders already in their 
places. 




Fig. 4. 



THE CURTAIN AND DEOP. 



Fig. 5 is a section through the stage looking toward the 
audience, and is designed to show the method of raising the 
curtains. 

These should be securely tacked to the beam of the frame- 
work, immediately over the opening or proscenium, indica- 
ted by the dotted lines. The diagonal lires in this drawing 
represent broad pieces of tape or braid, sewn on to the back 
of the curtains. Brass rings are to be securely fastened to 
this braid, at intervals of about one foot, as shown on the 
plan by large dots ; and through these rings, cords are to be 
passed, having their ends firmly sewn at the point a. and 



12 



HOW WE MANAGED OUR PRIVATE THEATRICALS. 



finally passed over the pully wheels b arid c. It will be at 
once seen that one cord must be longer than the other, it 
having to go over both wheels. On pulling tbese cords, the 
curtains will separate and rise simultaneously, until they 
take the form seen in Fig. 2. 




Fig. 5. 



Fig. 6 is a detail plan of the pully wheels to be used; 
they can be purchased for a small sum at any hardware 
store. The curtains can be made of any stuff, from baize 
to damask, provided always that it is not at all transparent. 



i^^JOmmm 



Fig. 6, 



As Borne may wish a drop— in addition to the curtain, we 
will give instructions for that also. It is constructed on the 
same principle as an ordinary window-shade— that is, simply 



HOW WE MANAGED OUR PRIVATE THEATRICALS. 13 

drawn up by means of the cord and pully. But as the roller 
on which it acts is larger than that in ordinary use for 
windows, it would be as well to have double cords,, one at 
each end, worked simultaneously, so that the drop may rise 
evenly. It should be brought up slowly on the ringing of the 
bell. The drop usually is ornamented with a picture, eith- 
er a landscape or an allegorical subject. The manner of 
preparing and painting this will be described under the head 
of scenery and scene-painting. 

There ought to be a distance of six or eight inches be- 
tween the curtain and drop, so as to prevent a collision. 



LIGHTING THE STAGE. 

Next comes the all important question of lighting the 
stage. Where gas is in the house this is a comparatively 
easy matter* The lights should be equally distributed over 
the whole room, otherwise disagreeable shadows will be 
thrown in the scenes, which will in a great measure destroy 
the effect. Should there be a chandelier in the room, it 
must be taken down before the frame-work is erected, and 
the nozzle that is left protruding from the ceiling will serve 
as the supply pipe for the footlights we are now about to 
describe. Procure a length of iron pipe of one inch in di- 
ameter, perforated at distances of about nine inches, to re- 
ceive ordinary gas burners. Fix this securely to a board of 
the same length, so that it will stand on the floor, with the 
burners pointing upwards. Next construct the reflectors, 
which may be made separately, one for each burner, as in 
Fig. 7, or in one length, by nailing a slip of bright tin to a 



14 HOW WE MANAGED OUR PRIVATE THEATRICALS. 

nine-inch board, the back of which will face the audience, 
and must therefore be painted. The connection with the 




Fig. 7. 

gas supply can be made with little difficulty, but we should 
recommend the employment of a gas-fitter here, to avoid 
the chance of a mishap of any kind. Goodparaffine candles 
will make very efficient sidelights, and can be placed in 
temporary brackets against the walls, and between the wings; 
they should in all cases have reflectors placed behind them. 
"Where gas is not available, paraffine candles must be used 
as footlights, and protected by glasses to prevent gutter- 
ing. A strong wire must be stretched across the proscen- 
ium, to prevent the performers' dresses being brought into 
contact with the lights. 

Where it is necessary to throw a colored glare over the 
stage, as in the case of moonlight, or the red glow of sunset, 
a transparent medium must be used in connection with the 
footlights. This is best constructed as follows : — Take a 
piece of wood of the same length as the footlight board, and 
which may be two and a half inches in width, and one inch 
in thickness ; screw a piece of the same substance, and 
about nine inches long, on each end, three pieces must be 
screwed in at right angles to the original piece, as if a frame 
were about to be made, From the extremities of the short 
posts thus formed, stretch a fine wire, having its ends firmly 
fastened to either post. Then fill in the whole with thin silk of 
the color required to produce the necessary effect. This 



HOW WE MANAGED OUR PRIVATE THEATRICALS. 



15 



frame can be hiDged to the footlight board, as in Fig. 8, and 
can be raised or lowered in front of the light by means of a 
string. 



/lilto^ /iffi^ ._ 




Fig. 8. 

The relative positions of curtains, footlights, frame-work, 
etc., can be readily understood by reference to the ground 
plan (Fig. 1) 5 remembering always that it must be modified 
to meet the arrangements of the particular room to be pro- 
vided for. The most effective way of lighting a stage is by 
means of border-lights, but this is almost impracticable in 
a parlor if only on account of the great heat that would be 
involved, to say nothing of the detriment to the ceiling. 
Care should be observed to keep the light in the auditorium 
subdued, so as to give greater brilliancy to that on the 
stage. 

SCENERY AND SCENE-PAINTING. 



As the stage machinery, except under very unusual cir- 
cumstances, would be unattainable, or, at least, unmanage- 
able, in a domestic theatre, the plan adopted in many of the 
smaller theatres of using drop-scenes instead of flats, is the 
most available for most purposes in amateur theatricals. 
These occupy but little space when not in use, as they can 
be rolled up and put away, and when in use are easily worked. 
They can be used to most advantage in skies and back- 



16 HOW WE MANAGED OUR PRIVATE THEATRICALS. 

scenes. Drop-scenes are worked in the same manner as the 
drop. 

For side-scenes—that is to say, those that project from 
the wings at each side of the stage— a very simple mode of 
construction will suffice. These scenes need not project 
more than a couple of feet beyond the wings. They can be 
made as follows : — 

An oblong frame is made by joining four pieces of lath, 
and fastening them at the corners with tacks. On this 
frame either stout paper or common calico may be stretched. 
If the former is used, the best adapted for the purpose 
is in rolls, or what is called endless paper, because it can 
be cut to any length. It should be of a stout quality. This 
being cut to the proper size — -that is, an inch larger than 
the frame every way — it is laid on the table, and damped 
with a sponge and water, and while still damp it is placed 
on the frame, when the edges are turned over and covered 
with strong paste to about the depth of two inches. They 
are then turned back again over the frame, and carefully 
pasted on it. The paper will, while damp, appear loose, but 
when dry will become perfectly tight and flat. 

The advantage of having side-scenes constructed in this 
manner is, that, being light, they are readily lifted in and 
out of their places. 

As some objects, such as a tree, part of a cottage, flower- 
beds, etc., would require to be cut out to their proper shapes, 
the best way to manage it will be to draw the outline with 
white chalk on a large sheet of millboard, and then, before 
painting it, cut it round with the point of the blade of a 
strong pocket knife. This is rather a troublesome process, but 
the old proverb, " Nil sine labore" must be borne in mind. 



HOW WE MANAGED OUR PRIVATE THEATRICALS. 17 

Should calico be preferred, it will be only necessary to 
fasten it with tacks to ihe frame. It should be drawn as 
tight as possible, so as to lie without a wrinkle. This is 
best effected by pulling the calico with a pincers, and while 
it is still in the grip of that instrument, making a hole with 
a bradawl, and hammering in a tack. 

The calico for the drop-scenes had best be prepared and 
painted on before it is fastened on to the roller. 

Paper will not require any preparation before being 
painted on, and calico only requires a couple of primings, or 
washing over of whiting mixed with thin size. 

Having prepared the drops and side-scenes as far as the 
mechanical part is concerned, the next operation will be to 
proceed to paint them. 

In this department the artist will be at no loss for an am- 
ple choice of subjects, as he will find in the numerous illus- 
trated periodicals and books ample material on which to 
exercise his skill. Landscape, .marine, interiors of every 
variety, will be ready to his hand. 

As amateurs generally fail in attempting too much for 
small parlor performances, we give illustrations of scenes we 
used, (plates 1 and 2); these scenes or "cloths," as they 
are technically termed, are all that are absolutely necessary 
if sufficient drapery can be obtained to form a proscenium and 
drop-curtain to separate the audience from the actors. These 
three scenes consist of a wood-side scene, with a park and 
park-like scenery; on the right hand (fig. 1), a handsome draw- 
ing-room, showing a window, (fig. 2), and a kitchen, (ia^. 3), 
at the back of the kitchen a garden scene, showing distant 
hills, (Hg. 4), may be painted; at the back of the drawing 
room a street, (fig. 5), and at the back of the landscape, a 



18 HOW WE MANAGED OUR PRIVATE THEATRICALS. 

corridor or hall so designed as to answer at a pinch for a bed- 




p* 



chamber, (fig. 6), if necessary. These scenes, if intended 
for use in a parlor or small apartment only, " cloths " ten 



HOW W2 MANAGED OUR PRIVATE THEATRICALS. 10 

feet square will be found large enough. In making these 




" cloths, " the scenes should run horizontally and not ver- 
tically, in order that they may run smoothly. The wings 



20 HOW WE MANAGED OUR PRIVATE THEATRICALS. 

and slips necessary to give a finish to these, are revolving 
wings, painted on one side with foliage fig. 7), on the other 
with panel stone work (fi.g. 8). In handsome rooms these 
may be varied by a colored curtain or other piece of dra- 
pery. A separate wing representing a trunk of an old tree 
(fig a 9), on one side, and on the other some rock work {B.g. 
10), will be very useful either for a wing or foreground. A 
side cottage with practical door and window (Hg. 11), painted 
on the reverse side for the interior of the dwelling (iig. 12) ? 
are also necessary. These altogether, will make six wings 
if necessary. The mise en scene may be made more perfect 
by introducing in the front two open cut scenes, which 
for their width, will act as wings and sky borders or flies 
(fig. 13), for foliage, can be reversed, as (fig. 14) ; and thus 
by a little trouble, the scenes may be varied ad injinittim. 
If the number of rollers should be increased to five, one 
should be painted as an utility scene, with a moonlight 
effect on one side, and a sunset and distant country on the 
other (figs. 15 and 16). These scenes, if carefully painted, 
can be used with lights or without them. Thus, combined 
with others, they give a reality to all. The moonlight 
effect can be used for distant mountains, lake or seashore. 
The cloth should be sufficiently long to admit of the horizon 
being altered in height, by rolling a portion of the canvas on 
the roller or upper bar. We painted our scene with an ad- 
mixture of green and purple hues, using a considerable 
quantity of emerald green in the sky and water, and using, 
sparingly, our Prussian blue for the darker and purple tints 
for the hills and foliage, as shown in 1ig. 15. We then 
cut out the moon and glued a piece of yellow silk over the 
orifice. The reflection of the moon on the water can either 



HOW WE MANAGED OUH PRIVATE THEATRICALS. 21 

be painted in and a little glass frost added for brilliancy, or 
the light may be cut out of the canvas and the parts covered 
with light silk ; the moving waters., are thus shown by a 
fixed light behind the moon, and a moving light behind the 
waters. This scene can be used for all moonlight effects, 
varying the "sets " in front to suit the occasion. 

Having chosen a subject, it can be enlarged to any size 
by the following simple process : — Divide it into an arbi- 
trary number of squares, both horizontally and perpendicu- 
larly, and number each square both ways. That done, 
square out on a sheet of brown paper cut to the required 
size the same number of squares, numbered in the same way 
as those on the pattern to be copied. Then draw within 
each square as much of the subject as it encloses. The 
diagrams on next page will assist in making the instructions 
more easily comprehended. 

We shall now explain what is to be done with this out- 
line when finished. 

The surface to be covered having been prepared, place 
the enclosed outline on brown paper, and with soft chalk, 
scraped fine, cover the back of it by means of a piece of 
woolen rag. The chalk may be either black or red. Then 
fasten it down at the top corners with drawing pins or tacks ; 
and having securely done so, go carefully over the drawing 
with a hard pencil or an ivory point, until the whole has left 
a solid tracing on the scene to which it is to be transferred. 
The brown paper may then be removed. It is unnecessary 
to say that the squares are not to be included in the tracing. 

It may now be gone over with black chalk, so as to cor- 
rect anything that may be desired, as well as to render the 
outline less liable to obliteration ia the course of painting. 



22 



HOW WE MANAGED OUR PRIVATE THEATRICALS. 




The colors used for scene-painting may be mixed in large 
saucers, or for any part where a large surface is to be cov- 
ered, in small basins or bowls. Thin size is the vehicle with 
which they are worked. The size, however, must be very 
weak, or it will coagulate when cold. Every color must also 
have an admixture of whiting to render it opaque 5 scenes 
being always painted in what is technically called body 
color, or tempera, the latter word being mostly corrupted 
into distemper. In some of the very dark finishing touches, 
however, the whites may be omitted., 



HOW WE MANAGED OUR PRIVATE THEATRICALS. 23 

The colors are laid on with hog-hair brushes, the same as 
those used in oil-painting. The middle or half-tints are first 
laid in, and over them are worked the different degrees of 
lights and depths. 

It should be borne in mind that the cheapest and com- 
monest colors will answer as well as the most expensive for 
scene-painting. They can be procured at any paint store, 
in powder or lump, but will require grinding before they are 
mixed. This is done with water only, by means of a slab 
and muller. When being mixed for use, a little thin size is 
added. 

The following are those most generally in use : — 
Whiting. Rose pink. 

Yellow ochre. Wet blue. 

Chrome yellow. French ultramarine. 

Orange chrome. Brunswick green. 

Orange lead. Burnt umber. 

Venetian red. Lampblack. 

To this list of colors may be added Dutch metal, yellow, 
white and green, with tinfoil of different colors. 

Any number of shades may be made from the foregoing 
list of colors, by judicious mixing. It must be remembered 
that in tempera-painting the colors dry in much lighter than 
when they are first put on. A little experience, however, 
will enable the artist to make allowance for this. 

For Skies, the azure or unclouded portion is laid in 
with wet blue, mixed with white ; if it is terminated below 
by a horizon, the latter may, if a mild one, be made of 
yellow ochre and white ; if a warm one, chrome yellow is 
added. When the sky and horizon are laid in, which must 
be done rapidity, they are softened into each other while 



24 HOW WE MANAGED OUR PRIVATE THEATRICALS. 

damp. White clouds on the azure sky should be treated in 
the same manner, or they will look hard. Dark clouds are 
made with blue, Venetian red, and rose pink, with a little 
yellow ochre added. In a brilliant sunset the clouds may 
be of a sharp purple, and intermixed with streaks of crange 
lead on a warm yellow. 

Foreground Trees should have the middle tints laid in 
with Brunswick green ; the lights are then put in, in their 
several degrees, by adding chrome yellow to the green, un- 
til the highest lights are reached, when chrome yellow alone 
may be used. The trunk and branches maybe put in with 
burnt umber, and the lights touched in with the same mixed 
with white, the dark parts with burnt umber and black. A 
little brightening up in the shades may be given by a 
warm color composed of lampbla jk, Venetian red and rose 
pink. In touching in the foliage, care should be taken not 
to block it in too solid, as the light should appear to play 
through it. 

Distant Trees, Fields, etc., should have added to the 
Brunswick green, for the middle tints, white; the same 

with the chrome yellow in the higher parts. In distant 

objects there must be no dark or positive color, lest they 

should come too much forward. 

Sloping Banks may be treated, as regards color, in the 

same manner as trees. 

Mountains are generally painted purple interspersed 

with green. 

Rivers and Lakes may be treated with the same colors 

as skies, but the lights should be sharper and more positive. 
Gardens, Parterres, etc., may be painted as fancy 

dictates. The same may be said of interiors. 



HOW WE MANAGED OUR PRIVATE THEATRICALS. 25 

Dutch metal is a material which, if used sparingly, gives 
great brilliancy to interiors. It should not be laid on in 
solid masses, but lightly touched on the prominent parts of 
the mouldings of walls, the ornamental portions of pil- 
lars, picture-frames, etc. 

The manner of applying it is as follows : — Paint in with 
gold size the touches intended to represent gold ; and when 
they are nearly dry, press a leaf of Dutch metal firmly on 
to them, taking care that it lies quite smooth. When dry, 
with an old silk handkerchief brush off the superfluous 
metal, and the touches will come out as intended. 

COSTUME. 

Costume is the observance of propriety in regard to the 
person or thing represented, so that the scene of action, the 
habits, arms, proportions, etc., are properly imitated. The 
peculiarities of form, physiognomy, complexion, dress, orna- 
ments, etc., should be all conformable to the period and 
country in which the scene is laid. The rules of costume 
would be violated by the introduction of one or more 
figures arrayed in the scanty raiment of the Hindoos into 
a scene in Siberia ; by the representation of American In- 
dians in turbans and top boots ; or by Romans dressed in 
tail coats and peg-tops, serving cannon at the siege of Car- 
thage ; or by a Chinaman in a scarlet hunting-cap sitting 
on the back of a horse, eating veal and ham pie by the aid 
of chop-sticks. 

To produce a showy effect at a small expense can be 
readily managed by persons of a suggestive mind and 
quick invention. Cast-aside garments of silk or velvet can, 



26 HOW WE MANAGED OUR PRIVATE THEATRICALS. 

by the aid of spangles, fringe and bugles, be made to look 
really well by a stage light. Discarded furs, too, come in 
with great effect. Armor can be constructed of thin paste- 
board, covered with tinfoil, and may in some parts be 
studded with Dutch metal. Helmets and crowns can be 
made of the same materials ; and for ladies and Oriental 
grandees, strings of cheap beads, and mock pearls will look 
quite gorgeous. Glazed calico can be brought to bear very 
successfully as an imitation of satin. We have seen long 
hair remarkably well represented by skeins of thread, and 
beards by tufts of tow. For a grey beard the tow does au 
natural, and for any other color it can be dyed. There are 
many other contrivances which will suggest themselves to 
the mind of the young amateur, aided, as he will be, by a 
knowledge of his own resources. 



PROPERTIES AND ACCESSORIES 

Would include a vast number of articles used on the stage, 
and are independent of either scenery or costume. Under 
this head, might be included arms, such as swords, pistols, 
guns and spears. Banners and standards, agricultural and 
gardening implements, furniture and domestic utensils, 
from the imperial throne of the palace, to the churn and 
grindstone of the cottage ; and, in fact, too many things to 
render an account of. 

In a regular theatre, these are prepared under the super- 
intendence of the property manager, and placed in his 
charge. 

Most of these articles can be made, at little cosl, to look 
very well. Swords and spears may be made of wood 






HOW WE MANAGED OUR PHIVATE THEATRICALS. 27 

covered with tin-foil, and shields can be made very effect- 
ively of mill-board, and either covered with tinfoil, and 
studded with bosses of Dutch metal, or they can be highly 
elaborated with coats of arms and other emblematic devi- 
ces. Straight, smooth broom-handles can, by means of a 
little color rubbed on them, and some ornamental work in 
Dutch metal, be made into very presentable spear-shafts 
and supports for banners. They would also make supports 
for canopies. Banners are prepared in the same manner as 
drop-scenes ; they should be richly emblazoned with armo- 
rial bearings. Gold fringe, with which they ought to be 
edged, can be had for little money at the theatrical costu- 
mers. A variety of imitation gold papers, plain and 
embossed, can be procured at any fancy stationer's. Some 
of these ornaments are made in the form of leaves, both in 
gold, silver, and green foil; these last can be worked very 
advantageously in wreaths, etc. 

Domestic and gardening utensils, kitchen utensils, and 
general furniture can be mostly supplied by the house. 
Thrones, footstools, and many other things that look very 
grand indeed on the stage, may be improvised by having a 
gold -fringed drapery thrown over them. 

STAGE EFFECTS. 

Stage effects may be made very telling, and yet be pro- 
duced by very simple means. A terrific lightning storm is 
to be produced. To do so the lights are to be lowered, and 
there is heard a pattering of rain. The effect of rain is imi- 
tated by having brown paper stretched tightly on a frame ; 
it must be as tight as a drum. This is obtained by wet- 



28 HOW WE. MANAGED OUK PRIVATE THEATRICALS. 

ting before stretching. It is placed at the back of the 
stage, out of sight, and against it is thrown judiciously, but 
sharply, some hard peas. It is as well to have some in both 
hands, so as to keep up the shower continuously. This seems 
an easy thing to do, but a deal of artistic skill maybe shown 
in producing a good imitation. 

Then we have a flash of lightning; remember that the 
lightning comes before the thunder. A little gunpowder — 
very little— mixed with sulphur, so as to give it a blue 
tinge, may be carried on a small shovel ; a pinch of this 
thrown through the flame of a candle will give a flash ; or 
place a little lycopodium in a narrow glass tube, and blow 
gently through the tube, so as to project the lycopodium 
through the flame of a candle and it will make a long flash 
like lightning. The flash will be followed immediately by 
thunder; to give this, nothing is required but a long piece 
of tin, which, if shaken pretty hard, will give the effect. 

Now the wind rises; this must be gradual. A long nar- 
row piece of tin this time, whisked like a harlequin's sword ; 
then as the wind increases a natural effect is given by blow- 
ing softly through a penny whistle. Thus the storm is 
complete, but the figures on the stage must act in accord- 
ance with it. Should it come into the scene that a ship at 
sea is firing signal guns of distress, a tap on a large drum 
Will exactly produce the required sound. 

A calm and beautiful night is the effect desired. This 
is produced by having a clear and cloudless sky painted on 
a drop-scene at the back of the stage, and also on the short 
sky drop suspended in front. The short drop may be left as 
it is, but the large one at the back must have either a round 
hole or a crescent cut in it to represent the moon, and also a 



HOW WE MANAGED OUR PRIVATE THEATRICALS. 29 

number of small ones to indicate the stars. Behind these 
should be pasted oiled tissue paper, because if left open 
they will look simply like holes. To show them up, the 
space behind the stage should be well lighted up, and the 
stage itself kept in subdued, light. A few objects cut out 
in millboard, and having a strong moonlight effect painted 
on them ; studded here and there, will heighten the illusion. 
Do not, however, fall into the error of placing them in such 
a position that the bright lights will come at the wrong 
side. 

A conflagration is represented by having the windows of 
a scene of a house or houses pierced, and lights flashed be- 
hind them, while lurid fire is burned on an iron shovel at 
the wings, iUuminating the scene at intervals ; these two, 
— the lights behind and the colored fire at the wings — will 
be sufficient of the fiery element. Then, behind the scene, 
boards should be knocked about to give the idea of falling 
timbers. Figures crowding on the stage, shouting and call- 
ing, will heighten the effect. If a piece of hose is conve- 
nient, one end of it can be drawn on the stage. Colored fire 
can be had from the publishers of this book. 

A hayfield makes a pretty scene, and one easily repre- 
sented, A few piles of clothes, or anything that will form 
a resemblance to small haycocks, can be placed at intervals 
on the stage. These will then, as well as the entire stage, 
have a little hay scattered over them. This the figures on 
the stage will rake, and toss, and make believe to make 
hay. Care must be taken not to allow the hay to come too 
near the footlights. 

A sea. To give the effect of a sea it is only necessary 
to spread a piece of sea-green gauze or thin muslin over 



30 HOW WE MANAGED OUR PRIVATE THEATRICALS. 

the stage 5 this is tossed and agitated by persons at the 
wmgs introducing long poles underneath, and imitating the 
movement of the waves. The scenery, of course, must be 
appropriate. 

Snow is imitated by paper being torn into very small 
atoms, and scattered from above on the stage. 

THE STAGE MANAGER. 

The stage manager stands in the same relation to the ac- 
tors that a drill instructor does to a company of soldiers, 
and unless the most implicit obedience is exacted by him, 
a successful result is simply impossible. Being elected by 
the choice of the troupe, his will must be law, and no dispute 
can be permitted as to his " cast" of the parts, or the man- 
ner in which he thinks it best they should be carried out. 

The stage manager need not of necessity be one of the 
performers; but he must be a person of taste and judgment. 
His duties are as follows : when a piece is chosen for repre- 
sentation, he reads the play to the assembled company, 
giving due expression to the several characters, laying em- 
phasis on such parts as he wishes to draw their attention 
especially to. Each performer then receives his role, and a 
first rehearsal is called for a particular day. When the 
time specified arrives, the actors essay their parts, and are 
corrected by him as to either the reading or the action, if it 
should appear to him that such a course would be required. 
He afterwards puts his team through further rehearsals, 
and winds up with a dress rehearsal, when he ascertains 
that every one is perfect 5 and here, to a certain extent, his 
duties terminate. 



HOW WE MANAGED OUR PRIVATE THEATRICALS. 31 



THE PEOMPTEE. 



The duties of the prompter are simple enough ; he has 
only to remain at the right wing, book in hand, and care- 
fully follow the actors as they go through their parts. 
Should he observe any hesitation on the part of any of them, 
he in a low voice prompts them; but he must be careful 
not to speak in a manner that will be heard in the front of 
the house. 



THE OECHESTEA. 

The orchestra may consist of as many or as few instru- 
ments as the strength of the company will be enabled to 
command. A pianoforte, or even a.concertina, will, in fact, 
be sufficient for a domestic performance. As it would in 
many instances interfere with the view of the stage if the 
musicians were seated in front of the footlights, the best ar- 
rangement is to have them at one or both sides of the pro- 
scenium, on the §ide of the auditorium. In this way they 
would not interfere with any one. 

Should the performance take place in a room, such as a 
lecture-hall or schoolroom, where there is a raised platform, 
the musicians can be placed in the usual manner. On re- 
ceiving a secret sign from one of the actors, who may re- 
quire extra prompting, the orchestra will strike up a volun- 
tary, or what in theatrical language is called a hurry, so 
that there may not be a break in the performance. 



32 HOW WE MANAGED OUR PKIVATE THEATRICALS. 

THE PEEFOHMEES. 

A thorough appreciation of the part to be enacted, and of 
its connection with the performance as a whole, on the part 
of each performer, is the first essential leading to success. 
The representative of a minor character must not, through a 
feeling of vanity, obtrude himself on the audience more than 
his part warrants him in doing. Care in committing the 
part to memory is a matter also of the first importance ; it 
is a duty incumbent on every actor, from the hero to the 
servant who delivers a message. A mute appeal for assis- 
tance from the prompter, if made too frequently, will soon be 
noticed by the spectators, with whom it does not elevate 
the status of the actor. A performer must not leave his post 
wiiile waiting his turn on the stage ; great confusion arises 
from the fact of having to run all over the house in search of 
an actor at the last moment. 

The rules to be followed by an actor in the execution of 
his part were never so clearly expressed as by the immor- 
tal Shakespeare, when through Hamlet (Act hi., Scene 
ii.) he sets before the players the qualities of stage represen- 
tation. 

" Speak the speech, I pray you, as I pronounced it to 
you, trippingly on the tongue : but if you mouth it, as many 
of our players do, I had as lief the town-crier spoke my 
lines. Nor do not saw the air too much with your hand, 
thus ; but use all gently ; for in the very torrent, tempest, 
and (as I may say) whirlwind of your passion, you must 
acquire and beget a temperance that may give it smooth- 
ness. 0, it offends me to the soul to hear a rumbustious 
periwig-pated fellow tear a passion to tatters, to very rags, 



HOW WE MANAGED OUR PRIVATE THEATRICALS. 33 

to split the ears of groundlings ; who, fbr the most part, are 
capable of nothing but inexplicable dumb-show and noise : 
I would have such a fellow whipped for o'er-doing Terma- 
gant : it out-Herods Herod : pray you avoid it. 

* # * * * * * 

" Be not too tame neither, but let your own discretion be 
your tutor : suit the action to the word, the word to the 
action ; with this special observance that you o'erstep not 
the modesty of nature ; for anything so overdone is for the 
purpose of playing, whose end ? both at the first and now, 
was, and is, to hold as 'twere the mirror up to nature ; to 
show virtue her own feature, to scorn her own image, and 
the very age and body of the time his form and pressure. 
Now this overdone, or come tardy off, though it make the 
unskilful laugh, cannot but make the judicious grieve ; the 
censure of which one must, in your allowance, o'erweigh a 
whole theatre of others. 0, there be players, that I have 
seen play, and heard others praise, and that highly, — not to 
speak it profanely,— that neither having the accent of Chris- 
tians, nor the gait of Christian, pagan or man, have so 
strutted and bellowed, that I have thought some of nature's 
journeymen had made men, and not made them well, they 
imitated humanity so abominably. 

******* 

"And let those who speak your clowns speak no more 
than is set down for them : for there will be of them that 
will themselves laugh, to set on some quantity of barren 
spectators to laugh too ; though in the meantime some ne- 
cessary question of the play be then to be considered : 
that's villainous, and shows most pitiful in the fool that uses 
it." Hamlet, Act Hi., Scene ii. 



34 HOW WE MANAGED OUR PRIVATE THEATRICALS. 

DRAMATIC AUTHORS. 

As it frequently occurs that a company desires to perform 
pieces of its own creation, a few observations on the con- 
struction of a drama will be of advantage to youthful 
authors. 

Before entering on his task, the dramatist should care- 
fully study the specialties of the company for whom he is 
about to write. Many excellent compositions have been re- 
jected by managers because the parts did not fit the com- 
pany, while plays possessing but little intrinsic merit have 
met with an unqualified success, in consequence of their 
bringing out in force the respective talents of the actors en- 
gaged in their performance. 

Another mistake young authors are apt to fall into is com- 
mencing a play without having any fixed plan as to the 
manner in which it is to be carried out. That is a fatal 
error. Before setting down a line of dialogue, the plot 
should be sketched out, and the characters roughly mould- 
ed. Striking situations and telling scenes should be con- 
jured up in the imagination ; and when all this is done, 
the regular construction of the piece may be entered upon. 



HOW TO MAKE A CALCIUM LIGHT. 



In order to exhibit this beautiful light with an apparatus 
of one's own construction, it is necessary first of all, to 
provide a square pine box 18 in. long, by 17 in. high; blacken 






HOW WE MANAGED OUR PRIVATE THEATRICALS. ito 

the inside of it with lamp-black and size; then affix to 
the top of the box a tin top similar to that of a magic-lan- 
tern, to act as the chimney, and carry off the heat. 

In the center of the bottom of the box cut a small hole, 
sufficiently large to admit the blow-pipe, and one inch and 
a half behind this small hole, bore a smaller one with a 
gimlet, which is intended for the spindle to go through that 
holds the lime. 

Now cut a round hole, 7 in. in diameter, in the centre of 
the front of the box, and here there should be a sliding 
panel in a groove, so as to open and shut on the light at 
will 5 for the lenses are placed at this hole. 

Provide yourself with three plano-convex lenses, white, 
green and red, similar to those used for signals on the rail- 
ways—these are employed to produce the various colored 
effects suggested by the scenic artist, and each lense should 
be fixed in a small frame. 

Pass the spindle through the little hole made with the 
gimlet, then drop on to it the cylinder of lime. Through 
the other hole in the bottom of the box, pass the blow-pipe, 
so that when fixed the point of the blow-pipe shall be op- 
posite the centre of the lime, and so close to it as to admit 
a five-cent piece to pass freely between the lime and the 
point of the blow-pipe. 

We may here explain that the blow-pipe stuffing-box (in 
which the gasses mix), and the brass tubing attached to it, 
with a stop-cock to each end of the tubing, are sold all in 
one piece. 

Vulcanized India-rubber tubing, of any length, half an 
inch in dameter, must now be attached to each of these 



S6 HOW WE MANAGED OUR PRIVATE THEATRICALS. 

stop-cocks, and at each other end of the India-rubber tub- 
ing must be attached a gas bag. 

Having filled one bag with oxygen gas, and the other 
with hydrogen gas, it is desirable first to turn on the hy- 
drogen, and light it so as to warm the lime, then gradually 
turn on the oxygen, and the brilliant light is produced. 
The colors are varied by changing the lenses before the 
front of the box. 

You must occasionally turn the spindle round that holds 
the lime. 

In the diagram below we have taken out one side of the 
box to show the arrangement of the interior, which will 
enable our readers to fully understand the description of it 
on the next page. 

Now to manufacture the gases. Procure a retort, the 
globe part of which must be made of copper, and 4 in, 
diameter, with a screw to open at the top for putting in the 
ingredients ) a little below the top (at the side) a short 
piece of copper tubing, about 2 in. in length, should be 
brazed in, and to this affix with a union joint about 5 feet 
of patent gas piping, turned up at the extreme end, which 
end place in the pail of water and into the little bee hole 
under the purifier. 

Take a common pail, three parts filled with water, into 
which place the purifier — this purifier is made of tin, some- 
what in the form of a bee-hive, hollow, no bottom, a small 
opening in the top, and another small opening at the 
side, just where the bees would go in. Into the opening 
at the top is a brass neck and union-joint attached, into 
which affix a piece of flexible tubing 3 or 4 feet in length, the 
other end of which attach to your oxygen gas bag. 



HOW WE MANAGED OUR PRIVATE THEATRICALS. 



37 



Unscrew trie top of the retort, and place in it fib. of 
chlorate of potash, and Jib. of powdered manganese, which 






^ 



1 










V- - 


— ^ 


' ' 










must first be well mixed together, then screw on the top 
again. Place a spirit lamp with a good flame under the 



38 HOW WE MANAGED OUR PRIVATE THEATRICALS. 




HOW WE MANAGED OUR PRIVATE THEATRICALS. 39 

retort, the gas will soon commence to give off— take care 
that the stop-cock of your gas bag is turned the proper way 
for the gas to enter the bag. The following diagram 
illustrates the process. 

The hydrogen gas you can procure in this way: affix the 
India-rubber flexible tubing to the female joint of any gas 
burner — taking care that all the air is first expelled from 
the pipe — and your hydrogen bag will soon be filled. 

In order to force the gases out of your bags to produce 
a brilliant light, have two boards lightly constructed, in a 
wedge shape with hinges ; you will require two sets of 
these, one for each bag. Place them between ; it will be 
necessary to have holes made in the boards beveled, to al- 
low the stop-cocks to come through. 

Now place weights either of shot or bags of sand upon 
the boards to produce the pressure ) an equal weight should 
be placed on each bag. 

We may just remind you that after making the oxygen 
gas, you should immediately wash out your retort, and dry 
it well before again using. 

You will find it convenient, in exhibiting the light, to 
place the apparatus (Plate 3), on a frame with four legs. 
An old worn-out cane-bottomed chair makes an excellent 
stand. 



Penelope Anne ; 

An entirely New and Original Musical Farce, 



BY F. C. BURNAND 

* y 






DRAMATIS PERSONS. 

BON JOSE JOHN BOXOS BE CABALLEROS Y CARVALHOS Y REGALIAS, OP 

Salamanca ; generally known and without familiarity mentioned as 

"JOHN BOX." 

count cobnelius be coxo, Land Margrave, of somewhere, with a 
Palazzo in Venice ; commonly known as ' * james cox. ' ' 

KARL, the German wail r 

MRS. PENELOPE ANNE KNOX. 

MAJOR GENERAL BOUNCER, B. L. H. 



The Scene is laid in &ix~la ~ Chapetle , at the Motel known as jbie 
Schweine und die iPfeiffer* Time— late in jdulunin* 



PENELOPE ANNE. 



The scene represents a public room in the small hotel before mentioned, at 
Aix-la-Chapelle. Doors k. h., and l. h. also a door C. leading to a gar- 
den. A table, with various books, papers, etc. , on it. Four chairs, etc. 

Enter cox, c. 

Cox [He is in full tourist style of the most recent fashion. Over this he wears 
a top-coat and round his throat a cache-nez. In one hand he holds a large 
glass of water. He walks up and down on entering. Drinks a little. 
Takes off his coat, which he throws on the sofa. Then drinks again. Then 
walks. Then removes the cache-nez, which he throws on to coat, then he 
stands still and respires freely.] Phew! I'm only gradually cooling. 
This is the sixth day I've taken the waters of Aix-la-Chapelle — 
and I'm beginning to be so sulphurous all over, that, if anybody was 
to rub against me suddenly, I should ignite and go off with a bang. 
I've written to my friend Box an account of it. I haven't seen Box 
for some years ; but as I particularly wish him to remain in England 
just now, I've commenced a correspondence with him. I've told him 
that the doctor's orders here are very simple — "HerrCox," says 
he to me — Herr's German — I must explain that to Box, because, 
though Box is a good fellow, yet — he's — in fact — he's an ass. " Herr 
Cox," says he, '« you must drink a glass of sulphur wasser." Was- 



44 



PENELOPE ANNE. 



ser's German too ; it didn't take long for my naturally fine intellect 
to discover that it meant water. But Box doesn't know it — for 
though he's an excellent fellow, he is — in fact he's an ignoramus, 
"Herr Cox," says he to me, "you must take the sulphur wasser. 
and then walk about." " What next, Herr Doctor?" says I. Note 
to Box. Herr Doctor doesn't mean that he's anything to do with a 
Hair-cutter. No, it's the respectful German for Mister — must explain 
that to Box, for though he's a tiptop chap, yet Box is— is in fact, Box 
is a confounded idiot. "Herr Doctor," says I, "what next?" 
"Well," says he, "when you've taken the sulphur water and 
walked about, then you must walk about and take the sulphur 
water." Simple. The first glass — ugh! I shan't forget it. I 
never could have imagined, till that moment, what the taste of a 
summer beverage made of curious old eggs — a trifle over ripe — 
beaten up with a lucifer match, would be like — now I know. But 
I was not to be conquered. Glass number two was not so bad. Glass * 
number three— less unpalatable than glass number two — glass 
number four — urn, between number three and number four a con- 
siderable time was allowed to elapse, as I found I had been going it 
too fast. But now my enfeebled health is gradually being renovated, 
and they tell me when I leave this, I shall be " quite another man." 
I don't know what other man I shall be. Yes I do. lam now a 
a single man. I hope to leave here a double, I mean a married man. 
Cox, my boy. that's what you've come here for. Cox, my boy, that's 
why you want to keep, diplomatically, Box, my boy, in England, and 
in ignorance of your proceedings. Herr Cox, you're a sly dog. If I 
could give myself a dig in the ribs without any internal injury, I'd 
do it. I came here for the rheumatism. By the way I needn't have 
come here for that, as I'd got it pretty strongly. I caught it, without 
any sort of trouble. I bathed at Margate, in the rain. Before I 
could reach my bathing machine, I was drenched through and 
through, I don't know where to, but long beyond the skin. The in- 
jury was more than skin deep. No amount of exterior scrubbings 
could cure me. Brandies and waters hot internally, every day for 
two months, produced more than the desired effect. I began to wan- 
der. I finished by traveling. And here I am. In six more lessons 
on the sulphur spring, I shall be quite the Cure. [Dances and sings.] 
"The Cure, the Cure the Cure, &c." 



PENELOPE AXXE. 45 

Enter Waiter, C. 

Waiter [Putting newspaper on table.] Aachen Zeitung. Herr Cox." 
Cox Xein danky, I mean, no thank yon. Nix — nein — don't want 
any. 

Waiter Nein, Herr Cox, zis ees de baber — de daily baber at Aix 
Beebels come. [Mate. 

Cox Ja. G-oot. I natter myself I'm getting on with my German. 
Here's the arival column — English — I look at this every day — be- 
cause — urn [Reading it.] — '< Mr. and Mrs. Bloater, from Yarmouth, 
and all the little Bloaters — Major Bouncer" — goodness gracious! 
how extraordinary ! — Major Bouncer — Oh it can't be the same, it 
must be one of his ancestors — or his posterity — "Major Bouncer of 
the Royal Banbury Light Horse " — pooh I fancy Bouncer on a light 
horse ! 

Bide a cock horse 

To Banbury gorse 

To see Major Bouncer 

Upon a light horse ; 

Rings on his fingers- 
Stop a minute — Eings — Ah! \ Reads] " accompanied by Mrs. Boun- 
cer, also of the Banbury Light Horse." Of course, that settles it. 
It is not old Bouncer. Xext, "Mr. and Mis. Winkle, from Pinner." 
Ah! at last — "Arrived at the Hotel der Schwein und die Pfeife," 
that's here — "Mrs. Penelope Ann Knox." I only heard it the other 
day at Margate. There she sat. Badiant as ever. A widow for the 
second time. Originally widow of William Wiggins of Margate and 
Ramsgate, and now widow of Xathaniel Knox, of the Docks, with a 
heap — a perfect heap of money. Then my old passion returned. I 
determined to propose to her. I was about to do so, when on the 
very morning that I was going to throw myself at her feet, I caught 
this infernal rheumatism, which laid me on my back. When I re- 
covered, she was gone. "Whereto?" says I. " Aix !" says they. 
My spirits mounted. I took a vast amount of pains to get to Aix, 
and here I am. I had heard of some property in Venice, which be- 
longed to the Coxes some hundreds of years ago. and so I thought 
I'd join pleasure with business, and take Aix, and Penelope Anne on 



46 PENELOPE ANNE. 

the road. And nowhere she is. If Box had only known it, he'd 
have been after her. He's a first-rate fellow, is Box, but abominably 
mercenary and mean. He'd think nothing of proposing to Penelope 
Anne merely for her money. And i" think nothing of a man who 
could do such a thing. So I've written to Box telling him to go to 
the North, and I'll come and stay with him for the shooting season. 
A little shooting Box in Scotland. Ha ! ha ! when I do go, it will be 
with Penelope Anne on my arm, as Mr. and Mrs. Cox. Let me see, 
when the hour strikes again, it will be time for my third tumbler — 
here it is — and the promenade. The Doctor says I must be punctual 
in drinking the water, so I'll put myself straight, and then, so to 
speak, lay myself out for the capture of Penelope Anne. 

SONG. 

[" Les Pompiers de Nanterre."] 

I'm so very glad, 

Feel so very jolly, 

Like a little lad 

Who has come home to play. 

Now about I'll gad ! 

Widow melancholy ! 

She will be delighted 

When I my addresses pay. 

Tzing la la la ! Tzing la la la ! 

I'm an artful dodger ! 
Tzing la la la ! Tzing la la la ! 
Hey ! for Victory ! 

[Exit R. H. 

Enter Waiter c. , with portmanteau, followed by Box as if from a long 
journey ; he is wrapped up to the eyes , and above them. Waiter points to 
room l. H. Box inclines his head. Exit Waiter, c. Box commences un- 
buttoning long foreign overcoat with hood. Then takes off hood, then takes off 
immense wrapper. When free of these he appears dressed in very foreign 
fashion. 



PENELOPE ANNE. 47 



Re-enter Waiter, c. 

Waiter [Puzzled.] 'Ave you zeen a Herr mit ein long code, — long 
tail? 

Box A what ? A hare with a long tail ? 

Waiter Ah ! ah ! [Laughing. ,] You are him, I zee. 

[Pointing to com. Dat vas you dere. Zo its goot. 

Box Oh, I see. Tes, that's me, I mean that was me, only now 
I've come out like the butteriiy out of a grub. [Aside.] I forgot 
that this is Germany. [ Aloud. ] Ja. 

Waiter Ach ! der Herr sprech Deutsch ? 

Box Yah. [Aside.] That's more like a nigger. [Aloud.] On second 
thoughts, nein. 

Waiter Yill you your name in dese hook write ? 

[Presenting visitors' book. 

Box I will. [Writes.] Don Jose John de Boxos Cazadores Eegalias, 
Spain. 

Waiter Dank you, milor ! [Exit c. 

Box We know what we are, hut we neyer know what we shall be. 
I am not quite clear at present, by the way, what I am, let alone 
what I shall be. If anybody three months ago had said to me, ' ' Box, 
my boy, you are a grandee of Spain" — I shouid have said that he 
was a — in point of fact I shouldn't have believed him. But still I 
am — that is, partially so — I'm gradually becoming one. At present 
I'm. only half a grandee. Three months ago a friend, my legal ad- 
viser, a law stationer's senior clerk, near Chancery Lane, said to me, 
" Box, my boy, you've got Spanish blood in you. ' ' I said that I had 
suspected as much from my peculiar and extreme partiality for the 
vegetaole called a Spanish onion, and I was going to a doctor, when 
my friend and legal adviser said to me, " Box, my boy, I don't mean 
that. I mean that your great grandmother was of Spanish extrac- 
tion." I replied that I had heard that they had extracted my great 
grandmother from that quarter, " I came across some papers," con- 
tinued my legal adviser, " which allude to her as Donna Isidora y 
Caballeros, Carvalhos y Cazadores y Eegalias, Salamanca, Spain, who 



48 PENELOPE ANNE. 

married John Box, trader, of Eliza Lane, St. Margaret's Whar 
"Wapping. Pate and all correct. Go," says he — I mean my legal 
adviser — " go to Spain, and claim your title, your estates, and your 
money, and I'll stand in with you, and take half the profits." I 
was struck by this remarkably handsome offer, and went down to 
Margate to cultivate a Spanish moustache and think about it. When- 
ever I want to think about anything deeply, I go down to Margate, 
Well, one morning as I was examining the progress of my moustache, 
after shaving my chin and letting out some of the blue blood of the 
Hidalgos in a most tremendous gash, judge of my astonishment, 
when, walking on the beach, in among the donkeys and the Ethiop- 
ian serenaders, I saw, in widow's weeds, as majestic as ever, Penelope 
Anne! [Sings.] "I saw her for a moment, but methinks I see her 
now, with the wreath of— something or other — upon her— something 
brow" — and then I lost sight of her. But my Spanish blood 
was up. The extraction from the sunny South boiled in my veins 
— boiled over, when I learnt, on referring to the visitor's list, that 
Penelope Anne was the relict of the short-breath' d — I mean short 
lived but virtuous — Knox, who had left her his entire fortune. All 
my long-stifled passion returned — the passion which the existence of 
a Wiggins, her first, had not quenched, which the ephemeral life of a 
Knox had not extinguished, a passion which I have felt for her be- 
fore I knew that the blue ink — I mean the blue blood, of the Hidal- 
gos danced in my veins, and while she was only a sweet village 
maiden eighteen years old, and known to all as Miss Penelope Anne, 
of Park Place, Pimlico ! I determined to go out and thruw myself at 
her feet, declare my passion, and take nothing for an answer except 
* ' Box — John — I'm yours truly, Penelope ! " I couldn't present my- 
self before her with a scrubbing-brush on my upper lip. So that 
afternoon I sacrificed Mars to Venus — I mean I shaved off my mous- 
tache for the sake of Penelope Anne. The next morning — Toothache, 
wasn't the name for what I suffered. Face-ache fails to describe my 
agonies. Neuralgia doesn't give the faintest idea of 'my tortures. 
Tbe left side of my face looked exactly as if I was holding a large 
dumpling in my mouth, or a gigantic ribstcn-pippin which I couldn' t 
swallow. Swallow ! Not a bit of food passed these lips, except slops, 
beef-tea, and tea without the beef, for days. At the end of a week 
I was a shadow. Penelope Anne had gone. Where, no one knew. 



PENELOPE ANNE. 49 

Somebody said they thought it was the Continent. I bought a map 
and looked out the Continent, but it wasn' t in that. I suppose it 
was an old edition — there have been so many changes, and they're 
building everywhere — so I consulted my medical man and my legal 
adviser. The first said, "Get change of air. Go abroad!" The 
second said, "Seize the opportunity and go to Spain. And," he 
added, "come home by the Continent." That suited me down to 
the ground. I should get my title, my lands, and my money, meet- * 
ing Penelope Anne on the Continent. As I was coming back I should 
be able to offer her the hand and heart of either Don Jose John de 
Box os y Cazadores y Regalias y Caballeros y Carvalhos of Salamanca, 
Spain, or of plain John Box, o* Barnsbury . So here I am. I haven't 
got the whole title yet, as the Spanish gentleman and I didn't hit it 
off exactly — If I'd only known what he was talking about, it would 
have shortened the proceedings. However, as that remark applies 
to all legal business, I couldn't quarrel with a foreigner on that point. 
Besides, if you quarrel with a Spaniard, his southern blood can't 
stand it. He stabs you. He's sorry for it afterwards, but that's his 
noble nature. So I've adopted half the title, and the rest will be 
sent on to me if the suit is gained. But up to this moment I've not 
met Penelope Anne. I've had so much of the wines of Spain, that 
my medical man wrote and advised me to try the waters of Germany. 
So here I am. [Takes up paper. ,] What's this? Comic Journal, ran. 
"We are sorry to announce the death of — " um, um. [Beads.] "Spain 
on the eve of a crisis." — There were three while I was there. Nobody 
took any notice of them. What's this? "Hotel der Schwein and 
die Pfeife" — that's here — "Mrs. Penelope Anne Knox." — Don Jose 
de Boxos, she's yours. You've only got to propose, and she's yours. 
Tell her you're a Spanish grandee, and offer her a position as Spanish 
grandsAe. Don Boxos, you've only got to give yourself a brush up, 
and she's yours. [Taking up Cox's glass of water which he has left on table.] 
I wish myself every possible success ! To my future happiness ! 
[Drinks.] Ugh ! [Suddenly makes fearfully wry faces. The clock strikes.] 

Re-enter Cox, r.h. 
Cox Punctual to the moment. [Seeing the glass empty.] Confound it, 



m 



PENELOPE ANNE. 



dash it — who's taken my sulphur wasser ? I say who [Sees Box, who is 
slowly recovering.] —Have you — [Starts.} Can I believe my eyes ? 

Box I don't know. 

Cox It must be — . 

Box If it must be, then in that case — [Opens his eyes and recognises Cox.] 
Ahi 

Cox Box! 

Box Cox \ 



[They are about to rush into each other' s arms, when they think better of it and 
sh ake hands rather coolly. 

Box How d'ye do ? 

Cox How are you ? 

Box Very well, sir. 

Cox Very well, sir I [Aside.] I don't like the look of this. 

Box [Aside.] I don't like the taste of that. 

Cox [Aside.] What's Box here for? 

Box [Aside.] Has Cox been trying to poison himself — and poisoned 
me? 

Cox [Aside.] He mustn't stay here. 

Box [Aside.] Cox must go. I don't think I feel as well as I did. 

Cox Ahem I 

Box Ahem ! 

Cox I beg your pardon, you were 'going to say — 

Box On the contrary, I interrupted you — 

Cox No, you speak first. Seniores priores. 

Box In that case you have the preference. Why, I'm quite a chick.* 
en by the side of you. 

Cox Pooh, sir. 

Box Weil, if you don't like "chicken" I'll say gosling. 

Cox Don't be absurd, sir. At what age were you born? 

Box What's that to you ? I'm six years younger than you, what- 
ever you are. 

Cox So am I. So you speak first. 

Box This is absurd. I'm only a visitor. You're a resident. 

Cox No I'm not ; I'm only ongparsong. 



PENELOPE ANNE. 51 

Box Ong Parsong ? Why, you don't mean to say you've become a 
clergyman ? Archbishop Cox, I congratulate you. 

Cox Don't be a fool. Are you stopping here ? 

Box Well, that depends. Are you ? 

Cox Well — [Shrugging his shoulders and stretching out his hands. 

Box Ah ! [Imitates action.] That's exactly my case. 

Cox It's time for me to go out and take the waters. You've taken 
mine for me. 

Box If you don't feel any better after it than I do — What's the 
effect of the waters ? 

Cox [Aside.] I'll frighten him. [Aloud.] If you're unaccustomed to 
them — poisonous . 

Box Good gracious ! The first draught then is — 

Cox Fatal. Deadly. 

Box TheQ you don't have much chance of getting accustomed to 
it. You look very well. 

Cox Yes. I could have taken that glass with impunity. It was 
my eighteenth tumbler. 

Box Then I'm safe. I began with the eighteenth. Aha ! I shall 
smoke a cigar and read the paper. 

Cox [Aside.] The paper ! 

Box Don' t stop for me. [Aside.] I wonder if he's seen the news. 

Cox [Aside.] He musn't know she's here. He's got it. [Seeing Box 
reading the paper.] Would you allow me to look at the paper ? 

Box There's nothing in it. 

Cox [Coming up to the table and putting his hand suddenly down on it.] 
Sir! 

Box [Taking no notice.] Come in. 

Cbx No, sir, I shall not come in. I'm going to come out, sir. and 
come out pretty strongly too. [Suddenly pathetic.] Box, my boy — 

Box [The same.] Cox, my boy. 

[Turns and allows the smoke of his pipe to come under Cox's nose just as Cox 
is attempting to take the paper. 

Cox [Sneezing.] Excuse my emotion. [Sneezes, 

Box It does honor to your head and heart — specially to your head. 

[Offers his pocket-handkerchief. 
Cox Thank you. I can't forget that we were once brothers. 



52 PENELOPE ANNE. 

Box We were. 

Cox We had no secrets from each other. At least you had none 
from me, had you ? 

Box No, not unless you had any from me. 

Cox Then I will confide in you. I don't mind telling you — 

Box I have no objection to inform you — 

Cox That I am — 

Box So am I — 

Cox Here — 

Box Exactly my case — 

Cox To marry— 

Box Yes, to espouse — 

Cox Eh ? 

Box It's the same thing. 

Cox Oh. To marry Penelope Anne. 

Box Penelope Anne ! So am II 

Cox You \ 

Box I. 

Cox Then, Box, I'm sorry for you. You've no chance. Go. 

Box On the contrary, Cox, as there can't be the smallest possi- 
bility of your being accepted, it's for you to retire. Allez. 

Cox I shan't allez. 

Box No more shall I. 

Cox Mr. Box, since we last met, circumstances have changed. You 
no longer speak to a gentleman — 

Box You needn't explain that — ■ 

Cox I say, to a gentleman connected with the Hatting interest. 
No, my family solicitor discovered that my great grandfather had 
been a Venetian Count, or a Margrave, or a Hargrave, or a some- 
thing of that sort, and that therefore my proper title was Count Cox 
The Landgrave. 

Box The Landgrave — you might as well be a tombstone at once. 

Cox I am serious. I have come over to mix pleasure with busi- 
ness, and offer to Penelope Anne the hand of The Landgrave, or of 
the Venetian Count. So yield to the aristocracy ; and, Printer, 
withdraw. 

Box Excuse me, Cox, but since our parting I have discovered that 
in my veins flows the blue blood of the Hidalyos — 






PENELOPE ANNE. 53 

Cox How many < * goes ?' ' 

Box Don't be profane— of the Hidalgos of Spain. I have already 
assumed half the title. The rest will be sent on to me in a few days, 
and I am here to offer to Penelope Anne the hand and coronet of 
Don Jose' John de Boxos y Caballeros y Eegalias de Salamanca. 
Fuego, as we say in Spain, Fuego. 

Cox Never, while /live, shall you marry Penelope Anne. 

Box Never, while I marry Penelope Anne, shall you live. I've 
Spanish blood in my veins. Pistols ! 

Cox Swords ! 

Box When ? 

Cox Now. [Clock strikes, ,] That's the second glass of water you have 
made me lose. You are ruining my health. 

J$ox Then let me shoot you at once. By the way, I haven't got a 
pistol. 

Cox Paltry evasion ! There's a shooting gallery here where they 
let 'em out by the hour. 

Box How many hours shall we take 'em for ? 

Cox Well — we've got to pay in advance. 

Box Well, you advance the money and I'll pay. 

Cox No. We'll borrow it from the waiter. 

Box Yes, and leave it to be paid by our executors out of the es- 
tate. Come. 

DUETT. 



BOTH. 

( ' * Suoni la tromba. ' ' ) 

Off to the tented field! 

Pistols ! revolvers they shall be ! 
Sooner than ever yield 

I'll fight for death or victoree I 
Box [Aside.] Yes ! he must be my target 

Must the unhappy Cox. 



54 PENELOPE ANNE. 

Cox [Aside.] "What will they say at Margate 

"When I have shot poor Box. 
Both Ah! 

"Off to the tented field, &c. They repeat the duett and are about to exit, 
c. , when they stop at the door and return. 

Box Hem ! I say, sir. 

Cox Well, sir ? 

Box I intend to exterminate you. 

Cox I mean to blow you to atoms. 

Box But if we don't exterminate each other it will be rather 
awkward. 

Cox Yes. I shouldn't like to be wounded. It hurts. 

Box Besides, if we both came off without our noses, or with only 
two eyes between us, we should neither be able to marry Penelope 
Anne. 

Cox True. I have it. 

Box So have I. 

Cox The Lady shall decide. 

Box Just exactly what I was going to propose. 

[A female voice heard without, singing ajodel. 

Cox 'Tis she ! What superb notes. 
Box It' s a rich voice. 
Cox She's a rich widow. 
Both She comes. 

[Penelope Anne appears c. in ultra Parisian watering-place toilette. They 
bring her down between tliem, each taking a hand. 
Both Penelope Anne ! [Both kneel r. and l.o. 

Penelope Mr. James Cox. Ah ! [Starts, 

Box You've frightened her. You're so ugly. 
Penelope Mr. Joh^ Box. Oh ! 

[Faints, and falls into a chair placed o. 



PENELOPE ANNE. 55 

Cox You've killed her. You Gorilla. 

Box Gorilla ! [They are about to fight, when she screams again.'] What 
shall we do ? 

. Cox [Excitedly. 1 Cold key — Senna — no, I mean Salts. 

Box \ More excitedly. ,] Pooh! Cold water — with something in it. 

Cox W here' s the sulphur water — throw it — 

Penelope [Shrieking. ~] Ah! [Rising.] How dare you ! [Calls'] Hus- 
band ! 

Box She said Husband. Dearest — [Penelope slaps his face. 

Cox She means me. I knew it. Angel — 

[Penelope repeats the slap on his face. 

Box You did say " Husband ? " Surely you cannot be blind to the 
fascination of Don Boxos de Regalias Salamanca — 

Cox When you said "Husband " you must have been dreaming of 
Count Cornelius Cox, Landgrave. 

Penelope Gentlemen. Mr. Cox — Mr. Box — if the truth must be 
told— 

Box It will be painful for Cox — but tell it, brave woman, tell it. 

Cox It will be harrowing for Box — but out with it, courageous 
Penelope, out with it. 

Penelope Well — when — I said — " Husband' * — I meant — 

Cox Me — 

Penelope No — 

Box Ha ! ha I hooray I Me — 

Penelope No — 

Both Then whom did you mean f 

Penelope When I said " Husband " I meant — 

major bouncer, suddenly entering, c. 

Bouncer Me. [Sings in military style.] " Rataplan ! Rataplan ! " 

Both Him I , You ! Bouncer ! 

Bouncer Major Bouncer, of the Banbury Light Horse, at your ser- 
vice. We were married this morning. 

Cox Stop ! Virtuous but misguided Penelope. Bouncer is married 
aiready I 



06 PENELOPE ANNE* 

M Ah [ 

Cox Behold ! and tremble J Read it, Box. [Giving newspaper.] 

Box [Reads.] At the hotel So-and-so — urn — Major and Mrs. Bouncer. 

[Penelope and Bouncer laugh. 

Cox They laugh I Horrible depravity. 

Bounce? Nonsense ! Mrs. Bouncer mentioned there— 

Box Is not the Mrs. Bouncer we see here. 

Bouncer True. The Mrs. Bonncer here is Mrs. Penelope Bouncer, 
My Mrs. Bouncer ; but the Mrs. Bouncer there is your old landlady, 
your Mrs. Bouncer, now, the Dowager Lady Bouncer. 

Box and Cox Good gracious I 

Box Has she any money ? 

Cox Is she well off? 

Bouncer No. I support her entirely. 

Box Oh ! Then bless you, Bouncer. Persevere. Go on support- 
ing her. 

Cox I congratulate you, Bouncer. You may keep your Dowager to 
yourself. 

Penelope And if you like to join us at the wedding-breakfast — 

Bouncer We shall be delighted — 

Penelope Now, as always — 

Bouncer To see — 

Penelope Two old friends. 

Bouncer Come, join hands. I'm an old soldier. 

Box You are. 

Bouncer I've stolen a march upon you. 

Cox You have. 

Bouncer But forgive and forget. 

Box I'll forget you with pleasure, but forgive — oh! Penelope 
Anne! 

Cox Well, I'll forgive you ; but don't do it again. 

Bouncer I promise. 

Penelope So do I. 

Box Do you? Then there's my hand, and when I've got my 
Castle in Spain you shall come and stop with me. [Aside.] I'll have 
old Bouncer up before the Inquisition. 



PENELOPE ANNE, 57 

Cox And when I've got my Palazzo di Coxo at Venice, you shall 
always find a knife and fork at your service. [Aside.'] I'll take him 
out for a walk by a canal and upset him. 

[Enter Waiter with tray, c, which he puts down. Everything is placed 
ready for dejeuner a la fourcheUe* 

Waiter Das Fruhstuck ist fertische. 
AU Eh? 

Waiter Break-a-fast» [They sit. 

Box Permit me— 
Cox And me — 
Box To propose — 
Cox The health— 

Both Of the Happy Pair. Major and Mrs. Bouncer. Hip I hip ! 
hip ! Hurrah ! 

Box [Singing. .} It's a way we have in the army. 

\They all join in chorus, 

SOLOS AKD CHORUS. 

[" Ba, ha I " " Les Dames de la Halle."} 

Box I drink the health of Madame Bouncer, 

And of the Major Bouncer, too. 
Soprano et Tenor Too too too too too too too ! 
Bassi Too too too too too too too 1 

Cox Of his foes he is a trouncer, 

Equal to any Horse Guard Blue. 
All Blue, &c. [As before]. 

Box All our jealousy we smother 

From this happy bridal day. 
Cox We'll embrace him like a brother 

Box And a sister — if I may I 

Penelope Anns Ah I 



58 PENELOPE ANNE, 

Box and Cox [Together.] Viva, Yiva Rataplan ! 

Oh ! Rataplan Penelope Anne, 
Oh. ! Rataplan Penelope-elope 

Anne, Anne, Anne ! 

Chorus [Including the Waiter, all at table standing up, glasses in hand f 
convivially. 

Viva, viva Rataplan ! 
Oh ! Rataplan Penelope Anne ! 
Oh ! Rataplan Penelope-elope 

Anne, Anne, Anne ! 

Tableau. — Bouncer on chair, with dish-cover and carving kroft. Waiter 
at side, waving napkin. Penelope between Cox and Box in cmixo 

Curtain 



HOW WE MANAGED 




A GUIDE TO THE 

Amateur Stage. 

t'ONTAlNtNtt PLAIN DIRECTIONS FOR THE 1 

Construction, Arrangement, and Lighting of the Stage, Painting the 

Scenery, getting up the Costumes, making the Properties 

and Accessories, Hints on Stage Effects* 

WITH NUMEROUS ILLUSTRATIONS AND DIAGRAMS, 

TO WHICH IS ADDED 

A Roaring Farce for Home Performance* 



NEW YORK: 

HAPPI HOURS COMPANY, 
No. 2*2 Ann Street. 



The Art of Public Speaking. An Exposition of the Principles 
of Oratory. By Samuel Neil. Containing the nature and princi- 
ples of Public Speaking; Ancient and Modern Eloquence; Parlia- 
mentary Eloquence; Forensic Eloquence; Eloquence of the 
Pulpit, etc., etc. This treatise not only supplies a desideratum in 
the literature of the language, but it administers to a need pecu- 
liarly existing under our representative system of popular govern- 
ment. It is true, and felt to be so/hat remark of an acute obser- 
ver of American institutions and manners, that "in no country 
whatever is a genius for writing or speaking a more useful or com- 
manding endowment than in this." Price 25 Cents. 

The Actor's Art. Its Requisites and how to obtain them, its 
Defects and how to remove them. Containing clear and full di- 
rections in every branch of the Art; with complete and valuable 
instructions for beginners, relative to rehearsals, entrances and ex- 
its, general hints on action, qualities of voice, etc., etc. In short, 
an indispensable book to the amateur. Price 15 Cents. 
: Book of Wonders, Mysteries, and Disclosures. A complete 
hand-book of useful information. Giving full and explicit direc- 
tions for making Hair Oils, Hair Dyes, Perfumery, Toilet Articles, 
Plain aud Fancy Soaps, Tooth Powders, Flavoring Extracts and 
Essences, Patent Medicines, Inks of all kinds, Beverages for 
Families, Fairs and Picnics, Remedies against all kinds of Yermin, 
and a large number of Recipes for the manufacture of valuable 
articles of every-day use, making a collection of recipes of great 
value to manufacturers, store-keepers, druggists, peddlers, and 
families generally. Price 25 Cents. 

Confectioner's Hand-Book. Giving plain and practical Direc- 
tions for making Confectionery. Containing upwards of three 
hundred recipes, consisting of directions for making all sorts of 
Preserves ; Sugar Boiling, Comfits, Lozenges, Iced Liquors, 
Waters, Gum Paste Ornaments, Syrups, Jellies, Marmalades, 
Compotes, Essences, Fruit Pastes, Iced Creams, Icings, Mer- 
riugues, Chocolates, etc., etc. A complete Hand-Book of the 
Confectioner's Art. Price 25 Cents. 

Common Blunders, made in speaking and writing. Corrected on 
the authority of the best grammarians. Xew edition, with addi- 
tions containing examples of over three hundred mistakes of daily 
occurrence in Speaking, Writing, and Pronunciation. By Charles 
TV. Smith. Price 15 Cents. 

DREAMS.— The Dreamer's Hand-Book and Fortune Teller. 
Containing the interpretations to over four hundred Breams; also, 
a new mode of telling fortunes by cards; the ne plus ultra of 
Fortune Tellers. Price 15 Cents. 

Either of the above will be sent by mail, postage paid, on receipt 
of price, by 

HAPPY HOURS COMPANY, 22 Ann Street, New York. 



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